Betrayed at the Altar

The juicer at home was always well-used; even before I got sick, I'd make myself a fresh glass of veggie and fruit juice each morning after my workout. When I quickly handed Scarlett her juice, she looked displeased and asked, "How could it be ready so fast? Didn't you clean it properly?"

Despite explaining that it was spotless, Cassian insisted I make two more glasses. Hearing Scarlett's syrupy voice was enough to turn my stomach. Cassian marched over, furious, "What's wrong with you? She's not well. How can you be so heartless?"

I wanted to explain that lately, even the tiniest things made me queasy; it was just a normal physical reaction. I remembered how, in the past, Cassian would rush me to the hospital if I showed any signs of illness, even in the dead of night. Now, despite my pale lips and obvious distress, he ignored me, thinking it was just my supposed animosity towards Scarlett.

I handed Scarlett the fresh glass of juice, but her hand slipped, and the glass shattered on the floor, juice splattering everywhere. She jumped up and exclaimed, "Oh no, what's your problem? Are you making it hard for me on purpose because I'm unwell and can't hold steady?"

Her accusatory tone got under my skin, and I snapped, "Miss Webb, you're really good at pointing fingers. I held that glass perfectly still. How is it my fault?"

Scarlett then threw herself into Cassian's arms, sobbing, "I just wanted to apologize, but she yelled at me. Everyone's ganging up on me; I can't take it anymore."

Half a year ago, a colleague wrongly accused me of losing a hard drive. When Cassian heard about it, he promptly found evidence to clear my name. He once said he'd never let anyone mistreat me. I thought it would be the same this time.

Instead, he gently patted Scarlett's back to comfort her, then glared at me, "What are you standing there for? Apologize to Scarlett; you've made her cry!"

I was floored. "Apologize? Cassian, didn’t you see? The glass slipped from her hand, not mine."

As soon as I spoke, Scarlett clutched her stomach, crying out, "My stomach hurts, Cassian, I'm feeling awful."

Cassian immediately grew anxious, ready to rush her to the hospital. I grabbed his wrist, saying, "I have some painkillers; they might help with a stomachache."

To my shock, Cassian pushed me away, shouting, "Do you even know her condition? You can't just give her any medication!"

He pushed me so hard I stumbled, hitting my leg on the corner of the coffee table, blood pouring instantly. Cassian looked at me with some concern, "Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Cassian knew I had a fear of blood; seeing it would send me into uncontrollable shaking. But Scarlett, still clinging to him, continued to whimper, "Cassian, can you take me to the hospital first? I can't bear the pain."

Cassian looked at me for a moment and said, "I'll take her first; her situation seems urgent. Please look after yourself."

As they left, Scarlett's eyes gleamed with a triumphant smile. But watching her rosy complexion, not a drop of sweat on her forehead, she hardly seemed like someone suffering from stomach cancer. Over the past months, when stomach pains hit me, I’d go ghostly pale, drenched in sweat.